


The Shield that Fell

by to_the_lighthouse



Series: Protego [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: 10 Year Gap, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, PTSD, Past Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-06-28 13:00:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15707733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/to_the_lighthouse/pseuds/to_the_lighthouse
Summary: Five years after Noctis is pulled into the Crystal, Gladio shows up at Ignis' doorstep, badly injured.





	1. Return

**Author's Note:**

> Will turn into a relationship between Gladio and Ignis in the long run. References to past abuse and violence. I won't be pulling punches when it comes to depicting the psychological consequences of said violence. Please read the warnings in the notes for each chapter! In general, I'm not particularly good at writing summaries. Feedback is always appreciated!

It took Ignis two years to become fully accustomed to his lack of sight. It took him another two years to regain his combat abilities and to be able to move as quickly as the hunts necessitated. Fortunately, Iris had quickly become quite a gifted hunter in her own right - or perhaps she had always been; that was, after all, more likely - and was in Lestallum often enough to accompany him, so that he had the practice he needed to improve quickly.

He saw - or rather, was visited by - Prompto frequently enough. They would go on hunts together if they had the time, but Prompto had his hands full in Hammerhead. Ignis was painfully aware that this was an excuse, that in reality it had become painful to be in one another's company given the events of Zegnautus Keep, which for Prompto had been considerably worse than for the rest of them. Ignis could only imagine the torture Prompto had been subjected to at the chancellor's hands. Of course, his new limitations meant he didn't actually see how his friend was affected. But the tone in Prompto's voice had shifted from mostly happy-go-lucky to mostly tense. Ignis didn't push the matter.

It was Gladio who took the fact that he hadn't been able to protect Noct to heart the most. Again, this was unsurprising to Ignis given Gladio's position as Shield. After all, what was a Shield without his King? Ignis would have liked to comfort him in some way (and somewhat selfishly he yearned for the man's comfort, himself), but Gladio made himself scarce when he was trying to figure out things, so it was impossible to do anything until he decided to reach out on his own. And Ignis was well aware that it would take Gladio years to recover from the fact that in his mind, he had failed as a Shield. So, with a heavy heart, he gave Gladio the space he knew the man required. They still met up for more difficult hunts from time to time, but Gladio would seldom stay for dinner after, and his conversational skills - not the best to begin with - had dwindled to non-existent. Yes, it was more difficult to keep Gladio's company than Prompto's, with himself having been rendered blind, and Gladio mostly mute, but Ignis knew that he had to be patient with the man if he wanted to recover the strong bond that had been forged in the aftermath of his injury. 

He was living in a small apartment that had been adjusted to his needs - even with all of the refugees in the city, the Kingsglaive, and especially the Crownsguard, was still afforded special treatment. It was now almost exactly five years after Noctis' descent into the Crystal, and there was no telling when the King of Lucis would be returning, or if he would be returning at all. It was another cool day in the city that had been known for its sweltering heat during days long gone, days that still saw the rise and set of the sun. Ignis was expecting Prompto to come by in the evening. They were supposed to talk over some recent intelligence Cor had forwarded, but Prompto had said he had some errands to run once he reached the city and would only be coming by fairly late. So Ignis was a little surprised when there was a knock at his door in the early afternoon. At first he thought that his sense of time might be off (a problem he had encountered fairly often when he had first become blind), but when he checked his mobile phone, which was voice automated to fit his needs, he found that this wasn't the case.

Strange. He went to open the door, calling out to ask who it was. There was no answer. Perhaps one of the many homeless refugees trying to find a place to sleep for the night? If it were Prompto, he would have responded in some way by now. Ignis opened the door, only fumbling slightly with the doorknob in the process. 

"Who --?"

"Hey Iggy." A familiar voice, gruff and low and laced with -- pain? 

"Gladio?" 

There was a grunt in reply, and a body pushed past him. Ignis caught the smell of copper in his nostrils almost immediately. 

"Are you hurt? Are you in need of a curative?" 

There was a shuddering intake of breath. 

"...Yeah." 

Before Ignis had time to process that information - the uncharacteristically (and therefore, shockingly) blunt request for help - there was another sharp intake of breath and a sudden crash. Ignis' mind told him that something large had collapsed in his small hallway, and alarm started to set in. He closed the door and hurried over to where he presumed, based on the sound, that Gladio now lay on the floor. 

"What's happened? Gladio?!" 

He realized that his voice was shaky, panicked, but he forced himself to try and make sense of the situation, crouching down next to where his mind had calculated that the impact had been, and reaching out to examine his friend's form. His fingers quickly found swelling - bruises, and pretty bad ones at that. Gladio didn't seem to be wearing a shirt, which, in Eos' perpetual state of darkness, had become less characteristic than it used to be. There were shallow cuts all over his body and a deep cut in his stomach area, from which warm blood was still seeping out. Ignis called out Gladio's name a couple of times, touching his face and trying to get a response. All he got were groans. He took out his phone and dialed Prompto's number. 

"Heya, Iggy, I thought we said we'd meet in the evening?" 

"Prompto." Ignis tried to sound as calm and collected as possible. "Gladio is here. He's been hurt. Are you in Lestallum yet? I recall you said you might be here earlier to help Holly with something." 

"What? Uh, yeah, I'm around... shit, is it bad?" 

"Can you bring a potion? Or better yet, an elixir?" 

"Yeah, of course. Be there as soon as I can." 

Without another word, Ignis hung up and refocused his attention on Gladio. There was sweat on his friend's brow, and he was shivering intermittently. The groaning had become more pointed.

"Gladio? Can you hear me?"

Still, nothing. Ignis felt sick to his core. He gently wiped the sweat off Gladio's forehead. 

"What happened?" he whispered. 

He thanked the Six when he finally got a response. 

"Iggy... M'sorry." 

"Whatever for? Prompto will be here shortly." 

That got another response out of Gladio, but not the one Ignis was expecting. There was a distressed groan as the man tried to move to sit in a more upright position despite his injuries.

"Iggy, please. He can't see me like this." 

Ignis didn't know how to respond. He had a gut-wrenching feeling about the entire situation. None of it made any sense at all. He thought for a second, and then decided it would be best to comply with Gladio's wishes for now to get him to calm down. He would deal with Prompto as soon as he got here. 

"Yes, Gladio, of course."

Gladio grunted, and settled himself back onto the floor, breathlessly mumbling something before descending back into unconsciousness; something that Ignis, with his heightened sense of hearing, was just barely able to pick up: 

"Thank you. Sorry. I fucked up."


	2. Fractured Prayers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto rushes to help Ignis with an injured Gladio and is triggered by what he is confronted with.

Prompto barely had a chance to knock before Ignis opened the door, quickly ushering him into his apartment. Instinctively, Prompto flicked on the lights - Ignis, of course, had no use for them inside. The system of lights Holly had installed with Cindy's help to ward of the demons kept the streets of Lestallum aglow in a cold, artificial light at all times of the day, and most of the citizen's kept the lights in their houses on, as well, so it was strange to step into darkness anywhere in the city.

"Dude, you've got me all wo-", Prompto began, and was immediately interrupted by what he saw once the lights were finally on.

Ignis had moved back into the apartment to crouch next to the immobilized figure of Gladio, who looked as though the Astrals themselves had wrought havoc upon his body. There was a deep gash - a wound from a sword - a broadsword, perhaps - that ran across his lower abdomen. Ignis was pressing his hands onto it, and blood was seeping out of the wound, leaking stickily through his fingers. The wound was the most immediate threat to the man's life, but Prompto also took in the clammy complexion and a variety of shallow cuts on Gladio's upper body. There were bruises around Gladio's wrists, already a prominent blue against his tanned skin, and Prompto instinctively wrapped a hand around his own wrist, trying to keep the memories that threatened to resurface at bay. Gladio's face was injured, too, blotted with bruises of varying shapes colors. His dark hair was sticking to his forehead. And, perhaps most worryingly, it looked as if he had lost weight, which for a man of Gladio's size was alarming on its own. Prompto absentmindedly calculated when they'd last seen each other. A couple of months back, maybe? He'd seemed fine then. But then again, maybe Prompto hadn't been paying attention.

"Move, Prompto!" Ignis' voice was close to shouting, frantic and a level higher in pitch than Prompto was used to.

"Iggy, dude, what the fuck happened?" Prompto fought to keep his breathing under control, fumbling the elixir out of his belongings and rushing to Gladio's side. He managed to break the elixir over the man's torso, and the large wound started to close, slowly. It seemed fresh enough; maybe it wouldn't leave a noticeable scar, but who knew. Somehow, Prompto had expected that Gladio would regain consciousness immediately, just like on the battlefield, but some of his injuries must have been older and without care for too long, because the man stayed lying on the floor, still not moving. The elixir had done it's best to tug at the edges of the more minor cuts, as well. Some had closed, but others remained open. Prompto looked at Ignis, who was worrying his lower lip. His hands were clinically moving across Gladio's upper body, trying to fathom the extent of healing and the extent of wounds still present. 

"Could you describe to me the extent of injuries you can see, Prompto?" Ignis asked. His tone of voice was the one he reserved for battle, calm and to the point. Right now it betrayed his anxiousness clearly.

"Uh...", Prompto began, "He's, like, bruised. Face and, uhm, wrists especially. Cuts on his upper body... some of them seem to be a little older. The wound on his lower abdomen, elixir closed that one. Uhh..."

He fumbled for words. It was becoming difficult to breathe. He felt catapulted back to events he wanted to forget about, but he soldiered through. This was Gladio, after all, and he owed him as much.

"His complexion is all off. And it looks like he lost weight or something."

Ignis took in the information, piecing together a picture of what he was dealing with, but the image in his mind still made no sense. Unless - unless the reason Gladio hadn't wanted Prompto to see him had been about Prompto rather than Gladio himself. He swore under his breath.

"Prompto, could you help me move Gladio to the bed?"

"Sure, buddy, no problem."There was a touch of nervousness to Prompto's voice.

"I'm sorry I pulled you into this", Ignis said, trying to keep control over the emotions that threatened to spill into his own voice.

It took more than a modicum of effort, but together they managed to maneuver Gladio through the hallway and past the small kitchen and living room area into the bedroom. He groaned when they moved him, still in apparent pain, and Prompto wanted to tell Ignis that there was a possibility that there were wounds where they couldn't yet see them, but knowing Ignis, he had probably already come to that conclusion by himself. They moved to the living room once Gladio was settled more or less comfortably on the bed. For a moment, neither of them said anything. Prompto watched his knuckles turn white as he clenched the armrests of the chair he was sitting on. Ignis had taken a seat on the sofa opposite. Like all of the furniture in the room, it was tastefully understated. It wasn't for the first time that Prompto wondered how a blind man managed to scavenge the best remaining pieces in all of Lestallum for himself, but that was Ignis for you. Unsurprisingly, Prompto broke the silence first:

"I'll clean the hallway before I go. And I'll be back tomorrow."

"Thank you", Ignis replied, "It would be much appreciated."

"He showed up like that?" Prompto chuckled nervously. He knew it was neither the place nor the time to be laughing, but he couldn't help it. It was a coping mechanism for him, like the act of planning was for Ignis and aggression was for Gladio.

"Yes." So much barely restrained worry in that one word.

"What do you think happened?"

"I have no idea. I'm just happy he's here now."

"Yeah." Prompto lowered his eyes. He forced the next words out between clenched teeth: "If you ask me, Iggy, looks like he got tortured."

Ignis jolted at that, but it was clear from his overall body language that he'd come to the same conclusion.

"It must have...", Ignis started, but stopped himself - for his sake, Prompto realized.

"I'm okay, Iggy, don't worry about me." He almost added 'don't treat me like a kid', but thankfully, Ignis took him seriously enough without further words.

"The injuries suggest that he was kept somewhere for an extended period of time."

Prompto took in a sharp breath, trying to calm his racing mind. He felt guilty, unbelievably guilty. Why hadn't he checked on Gladio? He checked on Ignis regularly, and on Iris, and Cindy. Even on Cor, and, by the Astrals, they didn't have a close relationship by any stretch of the imagination. Gladio just didn't seem like the type that needed - or wanted - help. But perhaps that was the issue.

"I'll take care of it, Prompto. Thank you for your help. We can talk more, tomorrow"; Ignis said as if on cue.

Prompto wasn't sure that talking about it would help. He could feel the anxiety creeping in under his skin in earnest now, threatening to swallow him whole. It was probably for the best if he left. Ignis seemed anxious to get back to Gladio, anyway. 

Gladio.

Stepping onto the streets of Lestallum, Prompto prayed that Gladio was really as strong as he thought he was.

 


	3. Small Mercies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gladio wakes up, traumatized and hurt. But Ignis is there for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: References to past abuse and torture (including implied, but not explicitly mentioned, sexual abuse). PTSD.  
> The Angst is strong in this one.

_“Bad move, Amicitian dog…,” a condescending, predatory whisper, “Bad move. But… I suppose I can train you.”_

Gladio woke with a sharp intake of air. The first thing he noticed was that there was a fucking hand wrapped around his arm, which he pushed away with a panicked shout before he could help himself. The second was that some of the pain was gone.

The third was Ignis, sat on a chair next to the bed he was lying on. His hair was tussled and hadn’t been styled, and Gladio’s involuntary movement seemed to have startled him awake. He looked a lot like he had back then, in Altissia, minus the wounds, thank the Astrals. Gladio clenched his teeth at the memory, which immediately triggered the image of Noctis being sucked into that damned crystal.

_Bad boy. Such a bad, bad boy._

“Gladio…”

Gladio’s eyes darted towards Ignis. He was shaking, and even if Ignis couldn’t see him, Gladio was sure the other man could somehow tell. If this was even Ignis. Astrals, what if it wasn’t? What if he was still there? The room looked like Ignis’ room, but maybe that was an illusion, as well.

“Gladio, I need you to focus on my voice!”

At least Prompto wasn’t here. Why would he think he would be? There was a disjointed memory of telling Ignis not to call him. A flash of Prompto strung up, of his bruised wrists. The sound of Prompto screaming after another nightmare. Trying to comfort him but failing. Always failing.

“Gladio!”

He couldn’t breathe. There wasn’t enough air. He hadn’t gotten out then, because he was weak and pathetic. And hadn’t he thrown those exact words at Noctis once? The fucking irony.  

“Gladio! Listen to me! You’re hyperventilating. I need you to breathe, alright? Follow my breathing.”

Gladio’s eyes darted from side to side. He wasn’t being punished yet. He’d better follow the order. He hated himself for taking orders from anyone who wasn’t Noctis.

 _If this is Ignis_ , a voice yelled at him in his head, _You can fuckin’ trust him. Don’t you dare lose it in front of him!_

He decided to focus on that voice. Ignis was demonstrating how to breathe, which he’d somehow, stupidly, forgotten how to do.

“In…,” Ignis breathed in, “And out.”

Slowly, Gladio was able to follow Ignis’ lead, taking big, exaggerated breaths as he was told to, and breathing out. It took longer than he would have liked it to, but he was able to calm himself down in the end. He felt physically better than he had in a long time. His wrists weren’t being pulled taut, and when he moved his arm, he knew that the range of movement was real.

“I’m good, Iggy”, he managed to say after a while. He didn’t like the way his voice sounded.

Ignis stopped the breathing exercise. They sat there in silence for a while. Gladio noticed that the lights were on – for his sake, he imagined, and was grateful for small mercies. And good friends like Ignis. Though Ignis didn’t deserve to have to deal with him in the state he was in. He’d have to get himself sorted out somewhere, preferably somewhere far away where no one would notice the damage that had been done. He braced himself for the questions he knew were coming.

“Would you like something to eat?” Ignis asked instead. His voice was kind and soothing, but it also betrayed his worry.

Gladio knew he didn’t deserve Ignis’ worry. And he knew where Ignis’ worry over the prince he should have been protecting had gotten him.

 _Should have been you_ , the voice in his head told him, _Iggy didn’t deserve this shit_. _It was your job to protect him. But you failed at that, too._

He noticed he hadn’t responded to Ignis’ question, but he reckoned that he couldn’t give a convincing show of being okay, anyway. So instead, he nodded. And then noticed that Iggy wouldn’t be able to see him nod.

“…Yeah.”

“Would you like to help me prepare the dish? Or would you rather stay in bed?”

“Nah, it’s fine, I can help.”

Gladio sure as hell didn’t want to fall asleep alone. He got up, gingerly, aware of the after-effects of the serums that might still be coursing through his veins, and of the damage that his body had endured over the last couple of weeks.

_You’re strong, boy, but I’ll break you yet._

He clenched his eyes shut, shaking his head and stifling the scream that threatened to escape him. Standing up was a challenge, but he managed somehow.

Ignis cooked a version of Prairie-Style Skewers, substituting the Anak meat for something more processed. Fresh Anak meat was hard to come by these days. Gladio appreciated the gesture, but he knew he didn’t deserve it, and hated that he was selfish enough to think that way. He hated people who didn’t at least try and get their shit together. No, that wasn’t it. He hated not having his own shit together.

They sat down in the living room. For a while, they ate in silence. The food was delicious, as it always was, but Gladio couldn’t eat much. He was starving, of course, but he hadn’t had food in such a long time that his body objected. He put down his knife and fork with trembling hands after a few pitiful bites. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Ignis trying to come up with the right words to say, but they both knew there weren’t any.

“I know you’re not the type to talk about these things, Gladio. But if someone managed to injure you this gravely, I’m afraid we have to ask a couple of questions to make sure you’re safe.”

“Who’s we?” Gladio couldn’t hide the suspicion in his voice.

“… Prompto helped save your life.”

Gladio wasn’t half as furious as he thought he’d be at Iggy ignoring his wishes. Instead, he just felt exhausted. He buried his head in his hands.

“Did he take it okay?” he asked.

“Yes. It wasn’t easy, but he fared alright.”

Gladio grunted. The memory of trying to soothe Prompto after one of his panic attacks resurfaced. It had been worst on their way back from… when Noctis had…

“At least you didn’t go runnin’ to Iris.”

“She’s on a hunt at the moment, otherwise I would have contacted her, too.”

Gladio could feel his chest tightening at the thought of his sister out there. She might be in danger, and he wouldn’t be able to protect her. He couldn’t protect anyone. He shuddered, barely realizing that Iggy, who had been sitting opposite him, had opted to come over to sit beside him on the sofa. Gladio noticed that Ignis was careful not to touch him, and again, he was grateful. But then, Iggy had always been the clever one.

He had this image of Ignis, from when they were younger. Already an attractive boy, maturing into a young man. He didn’t used to wear glasses back then, and his hair was short, accentuating his blue eyes. Of course, those were gone now. But everything else was still there.

It wasn’t a coincidence that he’d run straight to Iggy. It was just where he felt _safest_. Even now, even under these circumstances.

“How are you feeling, physically?”

Gladio jerked at the question. He wanted to lie, but he knew Iggy would be able to tell. He had no choice but to try and tell him what he needed to know.

“Feel like shit. Couple of bones didn’t mend properly, gonna have to realign them.” His voice was rough and hoarse. It was _vulnerable_ , and he hated it. Fuckin’ loser. How could he let this happen?

“Is there anything else?” Ignis asked, and his voice was rough as well, pained in a way that Gladio knew he couldn’t fix, “Physically, I mean?”

Gladio let out a shuddering breath.

“…Yeah. I’ll need… I’ll take care of it, though.”

“Okay,” Ignis said. There was no conviction there.

Gladio knew he was close to becoming hysterical, he could feel his throat constricting, but he needed to get this over with.

“Gladio… if these are… personal injuries, then you can’t deal with them on your own.”

He hated to hear Iggy this distressed.

“I know. I won’t. Just… not now?” The tears started welling up. He wiped them away angrily.

_Weak little animal._

“Gladio… I’m sorry. I need to know what happened. Not everything… Just…”

Gladio focused on his breathing.

“I tried to go after him myself. Was stupid. Got caught. They had me for a while. Managed to get out. Came here.”

It came out in a rushed string of syllables that Ignis had to strain himself to hear. He had feared as much, but the words were still a lot to take in. He assumed Gladio meant he had gone after Ardyn by himself, but he couldn’t be sure. He still had a lot of questions, but he didn’t want to push the matter further than he had to right now. The most pressing matter was that Gladio had, in fact, been subjected to a horrendous ordeal, and that he had to figure out what to do about it. And whether to keep Prompto in the loop, but he assumed that Prompto would raise hell if he decided to keep him out of things. That ship had sailed.

“Okay, thank you for telling me, Gladio.”

“Yeah… I’ll have the rest of the skewers later. Gotta sleep.”

Gladio did sound tired, terribly so. Ignis was at a loss as to what to do now. He supposed he would call Prompto. But then he noted that there was some hesitation in Gladio’s voice, and that the man hadn't moved from the sofa.

“Is there anything else I can do?” Ignis asked as gently as he could.

“I need to get…”

“Cleaned up?”

He’d cleaned the man as much as he dared to while Gladio was unconscious, but a shower might be a good idea. Or would it? Ignis wasn’t sure how to handle this at all.

“Yeah,” Gladio replied, “That. But sleep, first.”

“Alright. Do you want me to be in the room with you?”

“…Yeah.”

Ignis swallowed, trying to keep his feelings under control. He wanted to kill something – or rather, someone – very badly. But Gladio needed him right now. And Ignis would be there. That was the bloody least he could do.

“Yes. Of course. Whatever you need, Gladio.”


	4. Shatter/Burst/Repeat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ignis has a lot of questions, but they might have to wait until Gladio feels better. Prompto stops by to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: References to past sexual abuse and torture. Panic attacks, PTSD, trauma. Non-explicit nudity and swearing.  
> SPOILERS: Episode Ignis

Imagine, if you will, the fate of three friends sworn to protect a forth. Imagine years of training and watchfulness. Imagine being sworn to protect another and watching your charge fall into nothingness.

Imagine, then, that you are the only one who has seen their future. That you know that it is likely they will return, but cannot tell your other friends, both of whom are wounded in their own way, one of whom lies in your bed this very moment, bent past their breaking point. Imagine that you have always cared for this friend the most, that he is special to you, but now is so lost that you don’t know whether you can bring him back to himself -- or to you.

Such was the situation Ignis now found himself facing as he sat beside his bed, listening to the distressed noises Gladio made in his restless sleep. As he usually did in stressful situations, he tried to assess what he knew.

Gladio had gone after Ardyn. He had been captured, tortured, and most likely been subjected to sexual abuse. He had been held for at least a month, most likely longer, and it was probable, given the different stages of healing of the shallow cuts on his chest, that he had been subjected to torture for the entire time. He had shown up in Lestallum, injured and wearing his leather pants, but otherwise nothing. His energy had been depleted to a point he was no longer able to conjure his weapon. And, what was more, there were cuts on his torso that were healing slowly, if at all, and didn’t seem to be responding well to the elixir.

Aside from the seething fury he had to fight to contain, Ignis was confronted with at least three major questions: First, how had Gladio gotten to Lestallum from where he had been held? Second, why had Ardyn let him go at all? In his weakened state, it would have been easy to recapture Gladio. And third, how had Gladio managed to walk the streets of Lestallum unnoticed in his injured state?

These questions were important and needed to be considered in due course – sooner rather than later – but Ignis didn’t feel comfortable pushing Gladio to tell him more than he wanted to right now. He felt utterly helpless. What he could do was severely limited. Of course, he could tend to Gladio’s wounds and take care of his physical needs, but even in these war-stricken times, the trauma the man had endured likely far exceeded what he could cope with on his own.

Ignis doubted that Gladio would see it that way. He would probably want to retreat as soon as possible – as soon as he felt physically better - and that was what worried Ignis most. However, in light of the fact that the elixir hadn’t fully restored either his strength nor taken care of all of his wounds, Gladio might at least stay here long enough for him to recover mentally, as well.

Ignis was still caught up in his musings when he heard a rustling of sheets followed by a loud, wailing shout, and heavy breathing. It was with a broken heart that he realized that Gladio was hyperventilating again. He wanted to reach out and touch Gladio’s arm, but the man didn’t want to be touched at the moment – not that Ignis blamed him.

“Gladio,” he said instead, “You’re still safe. You’re in Lestallum, in my room. Just follow my breathing.”

Once he got Gladio to calm down and the man seemed to be facing him, Ignis asked whether he still wanted to get cleaned up.

“Yeah. Shower’d be good.”

He led the man into his bathroom, waited for him to undress and settled him into the seat in his ground level shower. It took a while for Gladio to undress, and despite his blindness, it was only when Ignis turned away that Gladio was able to step out of his pants.  


The scents that assaulted him once the leather had been peeled off were difficult to bear. There was copper again, mixed with a sharp, salty smell – faded, but still there. Gladio might have tried to wipe whatever it was away before putting on his pants, suggesting that he had done so himself, and further suggesting that his other clothes and belongings were still wherever he had been kept. There was the smell of Gladio’s sweat and exertion. Ignis fought to keep his voice neutral when he asked:

“Do you need assistance?”

There was a long break, and then an affirmative grunt. Ignis turned back around slowly. This earned him a sharp intake of breath.

“Shhh,” Ignis said, “It’s me. It’s Ignis. I have been your friend for the better part of 15 years. I would never, ever hurt you. I would rather give my life than knowingly do so,” he paused, swallowing the lump in his throat, “And now, I’m going to take this shower head,” he took the shower head off its holder, “And turn on the water… it’s still cold, but it will be warm in a second… I really don’t know how Holly and Cindy manage to keep things running around here, it’s frankly quite amazing…”

He continued talking as he moved over to Gladio and started washing him, rubbing small circles onto the man’s back with his washcloth and encouraging him to stand and lean against him to wash the areas Ignis didn’t dare touch.

Gladio groaned, mostly in pain, but the backrub earned Ignis a few sounds of contentment, for which he was infinitely grateful. When it was over, Gladio mumbled something that sounded like “Thanks, Iggy”. He still seemed exhausted. Ignis led him back to the bed and settled him just before the doorbell rang.

Prompto had brought supplies: a batch of curatives as well as food. Ignis didn’t know how he’d managed to get fresh meat, but he was thankful and went about preparing dinner for when Gladio woke.

“How’s the big guy?” Prompto asked.

Ignis’ first impulse was to leave out a big part of what he had learned about what had transpired, but then he reasoned with himself that if anyone deserved to know the truth, it was Prompto.

He remembered when Prompto had had his panic attacks. They’d taken turns keeping watch and making sure there was someone there to fend off the worst ones with the boy. Prompto would alternate between crying out Noct’s name in the middle of the night and whimpering for it to stop.

He recalled that Gladio once told him how he’d gotten his tattoos, and how terrified he’d been of the first session, and how he’d asked Ignis him to accompany him there. In the end, he’d asked Ignis to hold his hand, and then made him swear never to relay that story to anyone. And there he was, willingly telling Prompto about it. It was such a silly story, from Gladio telling the artist “yeah, nah, I can finish the whole thing in one session”,to him grabbing Ignis’ arm and growling, “Iggy, fuck, this hurts like hell” to the tattoo artist offering to just do the outlines and leave the rest for another day, that Ignis couldn’t help but smile to himself then, and he couldn’t help but do so now.

“Iggy, it sounds so much worse than what happened to me,” Prompto said once Ignis had told him what he knew, chopping pepper in a steady pace. Ignis could hear the barely restrained tears in his voice.

“There’s no use in comparing these things,” Ignis replied gently, adding, “Both Gladio and I would understand if this is too much for you to deal with right now, however.”

But of course, Prompto stayed. They finished preparing dinner, and Ignis moved to wake Gladio. He hesitated for a moment, then put a hand onto the man’s shoulder remembering the calming effect the backrub had had. Maybe he had been wrong to assume Gladio didn’t want to be touched at all, because Gladio leaned into the hand and woke. There was no shout this time, but there was a distressed whimper, and Ignis withdrew the hand. Gladio was breathing heavily again, and Ignis noted he had been warm to the touch, too warm. He might be running a fever.

“Hey Iggy,” Gladio said. There was relief in his voice.

Prompto must have followed him, because Ignis could hear Gladio turning. His breathing was becoming more strained again.

“Hey… Prompto…”

“Hiya, Gladio. Iggy and I made dinner… you care to join?”

“Yeah… sure… not too hungry though.”

Surprisingly, they managed to have a conversation of sorts during supper. Mostly, it was just Prompto rambling about how he had managed to pimp his camera with bits and pieces he’d found (and with Cindy’s help), but Gladio did ask questions from time to time and overall, the distraction seemed to do him good. He didn’t manage to eat much though, opting to take small sips of water instead, and finishing perhaps a fifth of his serving.

When Prompto left, Ignis led Gladio back into his room. It worried him that the man was still this exhausted. He’d given Gladio an antidote and smelling salts just to be on the safe side, but the medicine didn’t seem to be having much of an effect. When he told Gladio as much, the man mumbled something under his breath.

They reached the room, and Ignis made to sit on the chair beside the bed, but Gladio reached out to touch his arm.

“Can’t keep sleeping on that chair. You’ll ruin your back. I’ll take it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Gladio took a shuddering breath.

“Suppose we could both sleep on the bed. But… I…”

Ignis put a hand onto Gladio’s.

“I’m your friend, Gladio. I would never do anything to hurt you.”

“Yeah… Of course… sorry, man, I know I can trust you.”

Again, there was a lump in Ignis’ throat, heavy and bitter.

“I’m sorry this has happened. I will help you get through this.”

When Gladio finally responded, his voice sounded like it should, rough and confident.

“Thanks, Iggy. For being there.”

“Always.”


	5. Unhear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Gladio slowly recovers, new discoveries are made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: References to sexual assault/rape, torture, violence; aftermath, recovery, PTSD; general angst; everyone is traumatized.

On that first night they shared a bed, Gladio woke up screaming. Ignis backed away and readied his daggers on impulse, but then realized Gladio wasn’t drawing his weapon, although, based on the rush of air he’d felt, Gladio had stretched out his hand and there was the smell of sparks that had started to form in the air, the initial crackle of Lucian energy that preceded the summoning of arms. Ignis lowered the daggers and managed to slowly talk Gladio down. It took a couple of minutes before the man slumped back onto the bed.

“Sorry, Iggy”, Gladio muttered. His breath was labored, and he was still shaking, freezing and burning up from the inside at the same time.

“While I am grateful that you did not strike me down by mistake, Gladio, it seems to me that you’re experiencing difficulties drawing your weapon?”

The words left Ignis’ mouth before he had a chance to think them through. His tone was unnecessarily harsh, but he was on edge, very much so. He had severely miscalculated. Of course, he had anticipated flashbacks and impulsive behavior, as well as the potential for aggression and anger in the aftermath of what had happened, but he’d forgotten that if Gladio mistook him for one of his assailants during a flashback, he would be able to gravely injure him in the blink of an eye. His mistake combined with the surprise and shock of realizing that Gladio was defenseless – or at least without access to his weapons – startled Ignis into an impulsive statement.

Gladio didn’t respond to his deduction; instead there was an intake of breath and something that sounded like a strangled sob. Ignis found his way back to the bed and reached out to touch Gladio’s trembling form.

“Can I?”  
  
“I don’t know… Yeah.”

Ignis pulled Gladio into his arms. There was no resistance left in his friend, and the sobbing began in earnest, tears soaking through his shirt as Gladio screamed and wailed his pain into Ignis’ chest. Ignis was furious beyond belief. Ardyn was going to pay for this, one way or another. He had never witnessed Gladio complain once about even the gravest of injuries, or, in fact, cry. Sure, he’d seen him tear up, and he’d witnessed him angry on his behalf after he’d lost his sight, terribly angry. But Gladio prided himself in being able to _endure_.

They stayed like that until Gladio’s sobbing subsided. Ignis felt him pull away.

“I’m sorry. I’m being pathetic,” his voice was still rough, but Ignis was relieved that there was still so much of the old Gladio left there, much more than only two days ago.

“You most assuredly are not. Would you like something to drink?”

“Beer would be good.”

“Coming right up, one moment.”

Once Ignis had returned, he sat down on the chair again and tossed him a beer. In his weakened state, Gladio’s reflexes weren’t quite quick enough to catch it, and he had to retrieve it from where it rolled off the far end of the bed. He felt sick to his stomach, both from the poison that was no doubt still coursing through his veins, and because he had been lucky that it had prevented him from conjuring his weapon. Astrals, he’d almost hurt Ignis. What pained him most, however, was how relieved he was that Ignis couldn’t see him like this.

“Gladio, I do not wish to push you, but…”

“I understand, Iggy, believe me,” Gladio swallowed, “You need to know. If it were Prompto… or Noct…,” _if you hadn’t failed to protect him_ , “or anyone else… We’d need to know.”

“Under the circumstances, I’m afraid so. You ventured into enemy territory, and the intel would be invaluable. But I want you to take your time, nonetheless. And I am much more interested in the fact that your temperature is running as high as it is. You seem to have been infected with something.”  
  
In a past life, Gladio would have made a joke about him running hot naturally. Instead he took a liberal swig of beer.

“They did some… the chancellor…,” he breathed in and out slowly, “There was a series of experiments, along with… I think Ardyn conducted them personally. I mean, it’s not like there’s a lot of actual people left on Eos outside of Lestallum. I was out of it for long stretches of time,” except for the times he so desperately wanted to forget, “And there were experiments with chain-casts, with Blizzara… Where he…,” _Amicitian Dog_ , “He would cast the spell until…”

Ignis cursed under his breath.

“He would cast until you perished and revive you?”

“Yeah. And then there’d be serums, which he’d inject. I… I couldn’t feel my arms or legs it… It felt as if the strength had been sapped out of my body, except it wasn’t a spell, but somehow _mechanical_. I think some of the aftereffects might still be there. But I don’t think they were,” _let’s see how much you can take, pet_ , “I don’t think he was trying… I don’t think it was a new strategy he was trying for future use. It seemed more personal.”

“I’m so sorry, Gladio.”

With a start, Gladio noticed Ignis was crying. His face didn’t contract, and there wasn’t so much as a hitch in his breathing, but there the tears were, running down his cheeks silently. Although he was crying, he still had poise. Gladio had always admired the man for his elegance. Admired, and, if he was being honest with himself, desired from afar. Not that it mattered now, broken as he was. 

“Hey… Iggy…,” he said, gently, “Please don’t cry.”

Ignis tried to pull himself together, but it was no use. The sleeplessness and worry that had accumulated over the last couple of days finally caught up with him.

“Ah, Gladio, forgive me,” he murmered, “I am so sorry, I should have been there with you.”

Gladio grunted.  


“Had you been there, I wouldn’t have gotten caught to begin with, because you’d have never let me try and find Ardyn on my own.”

Ignis nodded slowly.

“I wouldn’t have, you’re right,” he willed himself to calm down, “We need to flush these toxins out of your system, but as I said before they don’t seem to be responding to the antidote. And… with regard to the additional injuries we touched on before, you need to get those taken care of, as well. Your body might not be able to fight off an infection and recover from any additional wounds.”

Gladio clenched his eyes shut.

“Iggy, I don’t know if I can do this.”

“You can. I will be at your side to help you. As will Prompto.”

“Just promise me you won’t tell Iris?”

Ignis sighed.

“As I told you before, I won’t. Not without your consent.”

“Thanks,” Gladio replied.

 

Over the next weeks, Ignis shared a bed with Gladio. There were no more violent outbursts, but Gladio barely slept. Most nights, he would wake screaming or shivering and near-catatonic. Throughout the day, he would be sick multiple times. He had to force himself to eat as much as he could to at least maintain his strength. His fever remained a constant worry. On the day after Gladio had nearly attacked him, Ignis had instructed Prompto to find a nurse. The only person with adequate medical skills in Lestallum had been a man called Barracus, who in a former life had been a doctor. Gladio had been none to happy at the thought of a man tending to his wounds, but in the end, he’d had little choice in the matter. The panic attack that followed had been nothing short of devastating. Nonetheless, Ignis was relieved when Barracus told him that there had, in fact, been substantial tearing, which he had managed to take care of. Horrendous as the thought of what had caused the injuries was, having them tended to at least meant that there was one less source of suffering for Gladio. Again, Ignis was confounded that the curatives they had used had failed on that account, as well, but he assumed that the experiments Gladio had been subjected to were to blame for that.

Again, there was an onslaught of nagging questions, which Ignis fought to keep at bay. Now was not the time.

On the whole, in spite of everything, Gladio seemed to be improving. His sarcasm was back in full force on some days. He spoke more than he had in a long time, at times even reverting back to his easy-going self as they sat next to the radio or waited to fall asleep, lying next to each other. There was rarely any physical contact, but when there was, Ignis noticed a lingering that he couldn't quite place. Gladio had taken to reading, and helped Ignis cook from time to time. Ignis understood that Gladio had compartmentalized the trauma he had gone through for the time being, and he wasn't going to try and coax him out of his coping strategy for now.

When Prompto came by two weeks after the ordeal with the doctor, he found Ignis in the kitchen. He had cancelled his upcoming mission with the Kingsglaive and Cor as well as a deamon hunt Aranea was leading, but what he’d found on his doorstep that day made it impossible to focus on anything else.

“Ignis...”

“Hello Prompto. Gladio is sleeping.”

“Ignis, someone sent me a tape. Actually, someone sent _us_ a tape. Addressed to the both of us.” Prompto seemed badly shaken.

Ignis stopped what he was doing abruptly.

“What sort of tape?” He couldn’t hide the trepidation in his voice. Prompto's next words hit him with the intensity of a sledgehammer.

“It’s an audio recording. He recorded it. What he did. To Gladio.”

 


End file.
